Part 25 (1/2)

Then, one day, Joe had his accident. It was not a very serious one, merely the breaking of the motor-cycle transmission chain, but as far as making the machine go without it, Joe might as well have had a bad smash-up.

Helen was not with him, and he was glad of this, for when the break came he was on his way back to the circus grounds, as it was nearing time for the afternoon performance.

Joe tried to mend the chain himself, but a link was needed and he had no spare one. He was looking about on the country road for some place where he could hire a horse and carriage, when he met a small boy who told him there was a garage about a mile away. Joe decided that if he could get his chain repaired he could make better time than by engaging a horse.

Accordingly he pushed the heavy machine along a sandy road until he came to the garage and repair shop. To his delight, the machinist said he could easily repair the chain, and he set about it.

But Joe had consumed more time in his weary walk than he was aware of, and when the chain was mended and he set off again, he had barely time to reach the circus on time, even if he rode at top speed, and had excellent roads all the way.

He was returning by a different route from the one he had taken on going out, and now he regretted it, for the way was longer.

”I'm afraid I'm not going to make it,” Joe decided as he looked at his watch. ”I've cut my schedule too fine.”

He came to a small village and inquired of some loungers if there was not a shorter route to the circus town than the one he had been told to take.

”Well, there is a short cut,” said a man, ”if you can ride the railroad track. Otherwise you can't get over the river without going five miles out of your way. The railroad bridge over the river is the only one around here, and it's a long, high bridge at that.”

”I guess I can ride the railroad,” said Joe. ”What sort of a bed is it--cracked stone?”

”No, cinders.”

Joe was glad to hear that, for cracked stone would have worked havoc to his tires.

”He can't ride no railroad line,” declared another man, positively.

”Why not?” Joe wanted to know.

”You can't ride over the railroad trestle, and it's more than a mile long, counting the approaches. If you walk you won't make any better time than if you went around the long way. You can't ride that machine over the open ties. It would rattle it all to pieces. The only way you can do is to walk and push it.”

Joe thought for a moment.

”I think I can ride the trestle,” he said.

”How?” demanded the man.

”By keeping on the steel rail. That's smooth enough.”

”You never can do it!” declared the man who had offered the objection.

”You never can do it in this world. You'll be off in no time, and it's a long fall to the river. You can't do it!”

”Can't I?” asked Joe coolly. ”You come and watch me. I'm going to ride my motor-cycle across the railroad trestle bridge on the single rail!”

Several in the crowd looked at him admiringly, while others shook their heads.

”He'll kill himself!” murmured one old man.

”He sure has got nerve!” exclaimed a boy, admiringly.